The verdict is in. The snowy hill of tissues has been swept from my bed. The secret comfort quart of pralines and cream has been devoured.
He will spend four more years in Columbus, Ohio.
Vices and crutches aside, I now sit in my little writerwoman office, ready to welcome acceptance. It's a cloudy, especially windy day in Southern California. Perfect for dealing with the difficult. Now more than before, I'm on my own. Better make it worth it.
Los Angeles, America's headquarters for getting ahead via bed, is my No Man Land. The past year and a half is just a drop in the bucket. Looks like my 'happy ending' must be seriously earned.
No one really chooses who they love or when they love or how they love. It just comes down to instincts. Intuitions. Stars on a calendar. Post-its on a mirror. Snap-shots on a desktop. Little indicators that it's real, it's deep, it's unconditional. It's in his hand playing with my hair or his voice when we say good night. It's not a choice or a decision. It's not an option. It's just an admittance: I love him here or there.
The changing winds crash tree branches into my writerwoman office window. It's a new beginning. I don't know if I like it yet, but I'm thinking you just walk. Eventually the wind is on your back instead of in your eyes. Eventually you forget the walk is a long, uphill, scary trek. Your muscles memorize the movements and you just keep walking. I'm on my way...carrying the hope it leads to him.
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